Unexpected
by Bleve
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield feels passion for his mission, for the plight of his people; and he has no time or inclination for anything else. This tale is what could have happened had it found him...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** - So, I am, admittedly, a little late to the "Thorin Oakenshield/Richard Armitage" is hot party, as I just saw the two Hobbit films over the weekend. Part of me was very reluctant to see them, because I love the books, and I didn't think the movies could do them justice. Needless to say, I was very very wrong and very very inspired. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer** - I, in absolutely no way, own anything to do with the characters or setting of this story, and I make no profit from it—I'm just a fangirl with a crush.

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He trekked carefully but quietly through the abundant mud, his shadow leading the way as the sun began to set behind him. The forest was thinner here, alongside the lake shore, and he chose the path because it allowed him to keep his bearings. His target was easily missable, but if he kept the water to his left, he knew that he would eventually find it.

A huge oak with gnarly twisting roots stood ninety paces to his right, a landmark that he recognized from his years of wandering in the Hills of Evendim. These lands had become his stomping grounds, and he knew their markings very well. Years ago, there had been a hunt for game in this area, and he had, by chance, stumbled upon the simple hut near the lake. At that time, he had dared not go any nearer to it, for he had heard the rumors; but now, finding it was his goal.

In his years of exile, he had heard much gossip tinged with fantasy and fear, mostly over too many flagons of ale. He normally paid it no heed, but, he was growing desperate, a need for revenge, for reparation, forcing him into action. He required knowledgeable counsel on his mission, and if there was any to be had, it would most certainly come from the Grey Wizard; but the man might as well had been myth for all the luck he had in finding him. It was difficult, for a dwarf in his position, to put stock in any unknown, but he knew that Gandalf the Grey existed and he suspected he knew the whereabouts of someone who could help him find the wizard.

He paused under the boughs, steadying himself while drawing his axe and sword. Yes, he was close, and now, the anxiety of his situation hit him like the swing of a mountain goblin's club. He forced himself to take slow breaths, picking his way carefully through the saplings and underbrush. Crossing over a gully, he caught a glimpse of a familiar rocky hillside before it disappeared behind more trees. He pushed on, carefully, and stopped when he found the edge of the wood. He peered out, sliding the branches out of his view.

A hovel more so than hut, and clearly, the years between his visits had not been kind to the structure. Vines, shrubs, weeds—all sorts of greenery covered the building, and he could barely see the wood boards that were dilapidated and rotten, the glass of windows shattered and missing. No smoke billowed from the half-standing chimney, and no firelight emanated from within. It looked convincingly abandoned, and anyone else would believe it so, leaving the forgotten relic to waste away. But not him, and not on this evening—he needed answers, and he knew where to collect them.

He approached slowly, on guard for any sort of trickery or ambush. A door, if you could call it that, barely remained on its hinges in front of him, and he knocked upon it, feeling foolish. Receiving no response, he put his shoulder against it, and it swung open easily. One, two, three steps he took inside, but he dared no further.

It was a common room; he recognized the large open space and fireplace for what they were, but every surface was covered with a layer of cobwebs and dust so thick that he doubted any of it had been used in years. Off the main area, a hallway led out of sight, and he moved cautiously towards it. His foot met the floor, and in that instant, the door slammed behind him, but he held his stance. He had suspected as much, and it would take more than magical tricks to unsettle him.

The tidy corridor was deceptively long, and at its end he could see a faint glow. The unkempt exterior had been an illusion, he surmised, a ruse used to keep inquiring folk at bay and extraneous proof of the inhabitant's skill. No doubt, he was in the domain of a formidable spellcaster, one who clearly wanted to maintain his privacy. Down the hall, he painstakingly approached the open doorway at its end, and nearly smirked at the accuracy of his prediction. The room was filled with soft lantern light and the scent of honeysuckle; it looked relatively clean, clearly lived in. Books and pots covered a counter, and papers of all sorts were visible on almost every surface. He couldn't make out much more without stepping further, and so he moved in.

Around the doorway wall, he spotted another table and chair, a dresser, and a bed, furniture meant to make a home. His eyes scanned over each quickly, and froze upon the mattress—a woman with creamy skin, as white as mountain summit snow, lay slumbering. Seemingly unending, golden curls cascaded down onto her shoulders and pillow, the muscles and vertebrae of her back creating a wanton display of grace and strength. A flimsy, transparent sheet laid at her hip, barely concealing her lower half from view, and the rhythmic movement of her flank implied that she was deep asleep.

He stared at the unexpected scene, he knew not for how long, trying to decide his next move. The stories he heard, they had painted a different picture, and he wasn't sure he had found his mark. He started to back away, lifting each foot hesitantly, when a voice made him freeze.

"See something you like?"

Before he could respond, the woman rolled over languidly in the bed, her limbs barely managing to lift the sheet across her chest. She leaned up, propped on elbows, securing the modest material while returning his stare as she eyed him from head to toe. She smiled, a sickly grin that made every one of his hairs stand on end. Every instinct he had told him to run, but for some reason, he held his ground as she spoke again, "A dwarf with no tongue...I didn't know such a wondrous thing existed."

He lowered his weapons and narrowed his eyes, the woman's flippancy irritating him. He had no time for ridicule. "I have come looking for the Mage of Evendim. Where is he?"

The feminine cackle echoed as if they were in a cavernous hall, and he realized his folly a moment too late. Like any rumor, there was only a bit of truth weaved into the words he had been so certainly told. "_He _is not here..."

Murmuring, he could not comprehend the noises she made, but he knew that he could no longer move, his arms and legs unresponsive. Sapphire blue robes flew to her from some corner, and they hid his view as they enveloped her form. She strode in front of him, using her fingers to lift his chin, "...Or anywhere. Tell me your name, dwarf. That I may ensure that it is uttered as a warning to any who dare enter my home with axe and sword at the ready."

"Thorin."

"Why did you come here, Thorin? What trifling cause brought you beyond my doorstep?"

It was too much. The longing he felt for revenge, the desire he knew to return to his home, his true home, left him shameless, almost ready to beg. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King under the Mountain. I come to ask the Mage of Evendim for assistance in contacting Gandalf the Grey."

More laughter, and he had to suppress the urge he felt to scream. "Why would I help you? You are a meandering idiot...you know nothing of those whose aid you seek."

"It is true that I knew not your gender…" he conceded, "and it was a very stupid mistake. But, I do know that you have helped others before…"

She paused, peering at him through thick eyelashes, "Yes...a select few who were worthy. But, they did not make the arrogant assumption that a mage must be a man."

He let his head hang, in both defeat and deference, and she continued, "Nor did they come bearing blades drawn. A brazen display on your part, but also foolishly courageous, and one that makes me genuinely curious. So, you will tell me everything of you, Thorin Oakenshield, and why you seek the Grey. And after I hear it, I will tell you whether or not I will help you."

The story of his people, the loss of his kingdom, the deaths of his father and grandfather before him—every terrible memory poured from him like the waters of the Brandywine. He gave every detail of his own volition; a spell may have bound him in place but desperation loosened his lips. He needed the mage, even if he wished it otherwise.

Her eyes watched him closely, and when he finished, she whispered more chants. He felt the release, and his limbs were once again his own. Wistfully, she spoke, "Your story is truly sad, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and you mean me no harm."

To prove the point, he slowly put his axe and sword away. "Will you help me find the Grey Wizard?"

Hesitating, he could tell she was considering her words very carefully. "I could, but will I? You risk much for a slim chance at success, and I would risk more by abetting."

Harsh, he knew his anger was misdirected, but he was a dwarf of little patience. "I need not hear how the odds are against me...I am more than well aware. All I can tell you is that I would rather die in this quest than continue living as I am."

"A desperate soul seeks the aid of a stranger. Do you even know who I am, or what I require in payment?"

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. At least he knew the first answer, "You are the Mage of Evendim…"

She nodded, eyebrows raising in consent, "That is one of my names, though a more recent addition, but it will do I suppose. If I give you my help, you must return a boon to me."

Another detail that was suspiciously absent from the tales he had been told. "Such as?"

"I know not yet. But, what I can tell you is that I will most definitely collect it."

He grimaced, "You cannot expect me to blindly agree to something so vague as that…"

"I do expect your agreement, because you really have no choice. If you had any other means to reach Gandalf, you would have used them. You are here because I am your only option. So, my offer is what it is, take it or leave it."

His eyes narrowed in defeat, "If you will help me find Gandalf, I will accept your terms."

"Then, we have a deal, Thorin. One that we shall make a upon a gold-oath."

He could not suppress the look of surprise on his face, "That is unnecessary."

"So you say, but it was not a request. The gold-oath is required, since I plan on fulfilling my end of our bargain, dwarf, and you and I share no history. I will not be shirked out of my payment."

His voice was incredulous, filled with wonder, "What do you know of gold-oaths?"

She shook her head briefly before continuing, "In my time, I've seen much, and learned more, about the many creatures that live in these lands. You dwarfs are no different to me than the sparrows or the hyenas or the trees...I've forgotten more than you will ever know."

Two small coins appeared in her right hand, and she tucked them into her palm as she offered it out to him. He took her hand reluctantly, noticing that her hand seemed dainty but her grip was like iron. She waited, he knew, for him to start, and then she echoed his words, "Gold bound, our agreement is set in stone and shall be fulfilled. Should I fail in my duty, then the debt will be settled with my life."

She let go of his hand, turning hers palm side up to allow him one of the pieces. Until both sides had completed their end of the agreement, each had to carry the reminder on their person. He plucked one carefully, slipping it into his waist pocket.

"Now that our business is settled, I'll begin my work."

He nodded, "Once you reach Gandalf, bring him to the compound in Ered Luin. That is where I'll be waiting."

She laughed again, "I'm afraid that's not possible, King under the Mountain."

A chill ran through his bones, and he tried to ignore the shiver, "What do you mean?"

"No one can simply bring Gandalf the Grey to you. We must go to him..."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - I do not own any characters, places or materials in this story. I am simply an inspired fan of Tolkien, writing out something that popped into my head. Everything belongs to him and his universe.

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A string of muttered curses, rumbling and angry like the distant thunder, and she pulled the hood of her cloak lower to hide the unrestrained smirk she wore. Her stubborn traveling companion had been at his task for quite some time, struggling to get a fire lit with rain-soaked kindling. The weather had not been kind to them—intermittent showers with steamy temperatures—so conditions were far from ideal, but they were nothing that her magic could not easily improve, had she simply been asked. Instead, she watched in mild amusement as the mule-headed dwarf tried and failed to spark a flame, over and over.

Thorin Oakenshield, a would-be king and a reluctant beggar, the dwarf was a dynamic mixture of misfortune and unbridled passion. Their arrangement was conceived in necessity, and had been uneasy at best; she did not need her powers to know that he did not trust her. So stubborn though he may be, he was also wise enough to be cautious; and the long, rarely punctuated periods of silence between them were to be expected—after all, they were forced acquaintances. He needed her help, and she had agreed to provide it, for reasons she did not even completely understand herself. His gains from their alliance were obvious, but hers were far from it. This was not the first time that the plight of those less powerful had intrigued her, but those requests for aid had been much simpler and made by far less interesting supplicants. It took a certain mixture of insanity, bravery, and desperation to seek out someone like her, and her companion, unlike his predecessors, had more of the latter two and less of the first.

The moment she had laid her eyes on the dwarf, something within him beckoned to her, and then the curiosity sat in. Pride was a dangerous thing, but she thrived because of her cunning, and their bargain simply provided her time and a means to discover what about this stranger had managed to reach her so deeply. From time to time, she even found herself studying him, trying to read him like she would one of her tomes, and she did so unabashedly, openly, and without any remorse. He often catches her staring, and it obviously unnerves him, an unmistakable scowl forming half-hidden beneath his beard, but she won't be deterred in her efforts.

A snap, the result of a careless foot in the forest, and from her seated position, she can barely make out a man in the shadows at the edge of camp. "Lookie at what we found here boys…"

Lifting her head just a bit now, she saw more of them, at least a half-dozen rough-looking and haggard men surrounding them from multiple directions. Their visitors sauntered closer, each with a weapon drawn, and she waited patiently for the inevitable as these fools had no idea the mistake they were making. Thorin, to his credit, reached for his sword, but a bandit had circled behind him, raising a knife menacingly to his throat, "I would not move another muscle, dwarf. That is, if you care to live."

The group laughed, and she readied herself, the mantra rolling through her mind like a wave that she guided through the rivers and streams of her being. In the ebb and flow, she could feel the energy pulsing eagerly beneath her skin. Her lips moved without sound, "Peace."

The direction was meant for Thorin alone, as she needed him to keep his cool, and she saw his eyes widen in shock as her voice echoed within his mind. For a second, she was worried that no matter her efforts, he would ignore her, but he listened, bringing his hands forward while resting them reluctantly in his lap.

"So, let's find out who else we have, besides a very deaf dwarf."

The loudmouth of the ragtag bunch was clearly the ringleader, and she noticed Thorin's hands clench at his glib remark. The idiot strolled towards her casually, but she remained seated on the ground, unmoving. The tip of his sword hovered inches from her temple as he lifted her hood up and off her head. Whistles and yelps went up the moment her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and the sickening smile on the pig's face almost made her wretch. "A pretty lass and her servant, traveling the road to Bree alone and at night? That is most unfortunate."

A snarl came loose from Thorin's throat at his description, and she waited to speak so that they could all hear her very clearly. "It is unfortunate, for you. I do not like being disturbed."

More laughter, and even a call of "Show that bitch, Cren!" met her ears, but she kept her very nonplussed look plastered on her face. Now, at least, she knew the name of the lamb she was about to sacrifice. The energy within her was begging, and she soothed it internally with promises of release. Cren smiled as he sheathed his weapon, leaning into her space. "I won't need a sword to break you, girl."

He called over his shoulder, "Take whatever gold and trinkets you find, boys. But this," and he turned, grabbing her hair while pulling her to her feet and bringing her face just inches from his, "This prize is mine."

Rancid, his breath reeked of spoil and ruin, and the stench made her eyelids flutter in protest. Her lips curled upward, a hungry grin of her own to match his depraved one. Voice low, for the scumbag's ears only, she murmured, "You win…"

Control abandoned, she unleashed the magic, the wave cresting as a buzzing filled her ears. Her senses were pulled in a thousand directions as she became the swarm of Midgewater wasps that she had called upon. Living curtains of iridescent green moved in harmony, and the bandits scattered as they recognized the insects that were well-known for their venomous stings. One wasp could only cause pain, but a thousand could kill, and she had a specific target in mind.

She let none of the hooligans escape completely unscathed; most she ran for at least a mile before delivering a few painful stings, but she allowed them their pathetic lives. Cren was a different story. She gave him a small chase, just enough to grant him the false hope that escape was possible, but she had saved the largest number by far for him. The bugs swirled and hovered, forming an inpatient bubble around him that slowly closed in, trapping him. The arrogant bastard was lost, and all that remained was a quivering pile that pleaded, "Please, please let me go."

A multitude of delicate wings beat in unison, and her voice was carried on the vibrations they produced. She ignored his sniveling, "Tell me...have there been others?"

When she got no answer, she released a few dozen to land upon him, and he screamed, "Yes, yes!"

"Did the women beg for their freedom, like you do?"

"Yes!"

"Did you let them go?"

"Yes, when I was done with them, I did!"

Anger burned, and she couldn't contain herself. His petulant response proved that the disgusting hump actually thought she should be pleased with his answer. "They should be so lucky. When I am done with you, there will be nothing left to set free."

Howls of panic and pain sliced through the night air as the swarm dove upon him, covering the filth in a layer of green servants that stung with her fury. Collective instincts of survival and defense took control, and when the threat no longer existed, she began to pull herself back, the needed price paid for her actions. Gathering the pieces, she reached out to reign the magic in, her form coalescing and shifting into the one she chose to keep in Eriador. Sensations of her hands and knees in the dirt came to her first, as she was curled upon herself in a ball upon the forest floor. Teetering, a wave of exhaustion from her efforts hit her hard, and she wobbled slightly in her awkward position.

Hands pressed fabric against her skin; on second glance she recognized her cloak, and she realized they could belong only to the one whom she did not run off. She turned her head, and there was Thorin looking both mortified and amazed. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have even teased him. Instead, he spoke before she could figure out what to say, "What, in all that walks Middle-earth, was that?"

"A necessary and wise use of resources."

He dismissed her attempt to downplay what had transpired. "You became the swarm...it was incredible. I have never seen anything like that in my life."

Her legs were still shaky, but she refused to let any weakness linger, pushing herself up carefully and standing. Pulling the cloak around her, she offered, "And you never will again. Now, let's get back to camp," she gestured to move while spitting on the corpse at her feet, "I'm done here."

He shook his head in agreement, but said no more, and she started making her way back along the path of broken tree limbs and trampled grass. She stumbled more times than she would care to admit, and she hardly felt like moving, let alone walking after that expenditure, but she had little option. The further they plodded along, the more she ached, the drain both magically and physically wearing upon her. It was a blessing that they did not have to go very far to find their resting place.

Her patch of earth and ragged blanket had never seemed so appealing, and she threw herself down by the potential campfire as she sent out a single tendril of thought, the flames leaping to life. In her tired haze she barely recognized the grunt of disapproval, "You could have done that an hour ago."

"I could have, were I simply asked."

"I underestimated you and your abilities, again, I am afraid. Should I simply ask you to conjure us horses? Or maybe even make Gandalf appear?"

Something about the flippant tone struck her, annoying her through her fatigue, "As I said before, that is not possible, and what I did tonight was not without great effort and cost. You joke, but you know not of what you speak."

He nodded, eyes cast downward in penance. He looked as though he was about to say something, but she didn't need his apology, longing instead for silence so that she could rest. Quietly, he offered, "Thank you."

Her head snapped upwards in confusion at his choice of words, meeting eyes that were piercingly blue and amazingly open, "For what?"

"Whatever you did, you no doubt saved my life."

Gratitude would be expected—after all, she had run off the bandits, but she never counted on him voicing the sentiment. Not that it mattered, as she had been mostly motivated by her own selfish interests. "A dead dwarf cannot settle his debts, and you owe me, Thorin Oakenshield."

He bristled, "You need not remind me of my obligations. No dwarf takes a gold-oath lightly, and I tire of hearing it at every opportunity."

"Do not test me," she snarled.

"Or what? You'll off me like Cren? Not if you wish to collect."

Too sure and too smart, she thinks, but he's mostly right in his assessment. "I needn't kill you to make you regret pissing me off."

He laughed then, and not a nervous chuckle but a full-on honest belly roar. "Of that I am certain."

Point made, she let the conversation drop. Stretching out, she weaved a few wards around the site, ensuring that they would not be bothered again, though she doubted it would happen. Housekeeping done, she began to drift in her meditations, when a few words reached her ears, "Rest well."

Normally, she would keep information about her defenses to herself, but something about his simple well-meant wish touched her, so honest and direct. "I have warded the camp; you need not keep watch."

A small smile spread on his lips, "I don't think I want to know if you've been doing that since we set out for Bree, do I?"

"No. You don't."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** - Two chapters within one week?! How the hell did that happen? I wish I could be this prolific and this pleased with the product on a forever basis.

**Disclaimer** - I, in no way whatsoever, own any of the canon characters, places, or things found in this story. All belong to Tolkien, and I make no profit.

* * *

A symphony of snores, the sounds of a slumbering party, and he sighed quietly as he tried for the thousandth time to find rest. No matter how hard he wished for sleep, it seemed it would not happen this night. Eyes roaming the stars, he turned his head, and in the low firelight he could make out the unmoving shapes of his comrades, the brave fools who had agreed to accompany him to retake the Lonely Mountain. They were few in number, but that mattered not; they would reclaim their lost kingdom and their rightful heritage. If he had to give everything, he would, and it was as simple as that. Now that he had Gandalf's help, along with the map and key that were his birthright, he was even more sure he would reach Erebor and rid its hallowed halls of the evil that made its lair within. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he had a goal and a plan. He would see it through until its end—or his.

Purpose driving him, there were a million things that his mind should be focused upon, but he kept coming back to a sense of incompletion, and he knew exactly what foolish line of thought had triggered those feelings. His brief, but intense, trip in the company of one Mage of Evendim had left its mark on him. If not for her, he would not be here now, and her knowledge and powers were remarkable—some silly, overly optimistic part of him had hoped that she would join him for longer. But, the moment they had neared the outskirts of Bree, she had vanished. One moment, she had been walking quietly behind him on the road towards town, eyes forward, jaw set, cloak of sapphire wrapped about her frame; and the next, she was gone. Startled, he'd spun circles in the dirt, ready to backtrack and find her, when her voice had whispered in his mind, "Your mark awaits in the Prancing Pony. Find him."

So he had, her words true, and his allegiance with Gandalf had led him to this, the opportunity to right the wrongs committed against his people. He had arrogantly assumed that she would eventually return to him; after all, he had not paid his debt to her. But, in the weeks that followed, which were filled with preparation and travel that had taken him all over Eriador, she still had not resurfaced. It was ridiculous he knew, but in some odd way, he missed her, and not just her magic.

Standing in silence, he moved slowly and carefully amongst the resting rabble, with the hope that stretching his legs might convince his mind that it was time for sleep. Common sense told him not to go far alone, and he meandered towards a nearby rocky precipice that they had found while scouting the area for camp. The rugged terrain of the mountains offered amazing views, and he would entertain himself with admiring their beauty if he could not rest.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Rich and strong, Gandalf's voice reminded him of his father's, no matter how many times he heard it. He nodded in response, "Aye, and it's better than looking at a bunch of snoring dwarfs."

He watched the chuckling wizard as he took a seat on the ground, "Can't sleep, can you?"

"No, and I was hoping to spare anyone else that misfortune by coming out here. My apologies."

"No need," smiling, Gandalf continued, "What keeps you up?"

"Planning," he admitted, though that wasn't entirely accurate. "When I think on what we are undertaking…"

"It will be no small feat, and that is certain. But, we will find a way. It was not by chance that I met your father in Dol Guldur and that he entrusted me with the tools you will need to gain entrance into Erebor. Fate smiles upon us."

"A year ago, I would have told you that fate is nonexistent, an excuse used by lackwits who allow their lives to be dictated to them. But, here we sit, and I have learned that I can no longer dismiss it so easily."

Packing his pipe, the mage asked before lighting it, "I'm curious, how was it that you came to Bree?"

Exposed flesh, blonde curls, and flimsy linen—a flashback of just how he had learned of where to find Gandalf the Grey, and the words tumbled forth, "The Mage of Evendim…"

Eyes wide, the look on Gandalf's face was one of absolute concern, "She helped you?"

"Yes. She told me you were in Bree..."

"In exchange for what? She does nothing without consideration."

The mage's stare was scrutinizing, uncomfortably so, and something within him snapped. "I gave her nothing."

Yet, he thought ominously to himself, as their bargain was incomplete. But, the wizard did not need to know that, and he definitely did not need to know that she had accompanied him to Bree. Gandalf warned, "If that's true, then you are the first charity case that I have heard of. But, I have no reason to doubt you."

They sat there in uncomfortable silence, until finally the wizard spoke again, "Very little good comes from dealing with her. You are lucky that she was in a generous mood―others have not been so."

His stomach cartwheeled nervously within his body, and if possible, he was filled with even more dread at the thought of owing the mage a boon. But, he voiced none of that to his current company, "Lucky, for once, I guess."

The mage stood, stretching his arms awkwardly above his head, "Well I, for one, am ready to retire. Try to get some rest, Thorin."

He nodded and watched the man's back as he returned to camp. If anxiety had been keeping him awake before, he would probably never sleep again. Gandalf's words confirmed that his deal with the Mage of Evendim had been a huge mistake, but he was also equally as sure that, at the time, he had no other option and that nothing could be done for it. If the grey wizard knew that he had taken a gold-oath, he probably would have had a fit.

"He is such a buzzkill."

Jumping at her voice, he immediately scurried backwards as a large, speckled snake slithered over the edge of the cliff. The reptile coiled itself like a rope, spinning and swirling, its brown skin shimmering with light as her musical chuckle filled his head. Morphing, the serpent's scales grew in a blinding flash, the shape becoming humanoid. He cried out in both shock and awe, "You!"

"Me!" she chirped in response. Transformation complete, the Mage of Evendim sat before him, legs and arms crossed tightly against her body. Silvery-blue, the strands of her blonde hair carried the moon rays upon them, and her skin seemed to shimmer like diamonds hewn from the stone of Erebor itself. He sat there staring at her, his heart racing, in both fear and something else that he chose to ignore. He knew she was magical, but she looked mythical, and at that very moment, he realized that he was totally and completely in over his head.

"Have you forgotten how to speak in our time apart, dwarf? I don't recall particularly enlightening conversations, but you did know more than one word, at least."

He shook his head, willing his mouth to move, "What are you doing here?"

"I always keep watch over my assets," she purred, as she stretched out an arm, gently patting him on the knee. "I am never far, and when the conversation got interesting, I decided to listen a little closer."

"Then you know that Gandalf thinks you're trouble."

"I've known what that windbag has thought of me for many years, but that wasn't what caught my attention. This was something far more intriguing…"

She leaned into his space, a movement that both enticed and frightened him, but he had been bullied more than enough by her tonight, and so he held his stance, unmoving. "I believe I may have heard the King under the Mountain lie right through his royal teeth."

She looked so smug, and he could only try to deny her accusation. "No lie left my lips."

Her grin sent shivers down his spine. "Details—the tiny little nuggets that allow a dwarf to wiggle and squirm around the truth. You and I both know that eventually, I will be more than compensated for helping you find the Grey."

Her voice echoed off the stones around them, and he glanced back towards the camp, making sure that she hadn't roused anyone. She looked at him, shaking her head slightly, "Don't worry. They won't wake."

Gandalf's frightened eyes flashed in his mind, and he growled, "What did you do?"

She stared at him in silence with a dismissive affect, and he lost control in panic, grabbing her by the fabric of her robe. "What did you do!?"

For a split second, her pupils were the size of saucers as she hissed, "Nothing detrimental, yet. Your friends only sleep a little deeper so that we may have privacy. But, I suggest you take your hands off of me before I change my mind."

He let go, reluctantly, "Gandalf was right…"

"Gandalf knows little of me. He may suspect much but he can prove none of it."

"And I understand even less, which is why it is time to be done with this. Tell me what you want from me and I will do it. I tire of this annoyance."

Her head went back, the delicate lines of her throat displayed in the starlight, and she laughed so loudly that it only infuriated him more. "That will not be happening. I fulfilled my end of our arrangement, and you will do the same, when I demand it. I do not bend to your whims."

Cradling his head in his hands, he tried to soothe his frustration as he begrudgingly realized that aggression would get him nowhere with her. Not only did she not fear him, he had no doubt that she could kill him quite easily. He would have to use some other tactic, and so he begged only because he knew no one else could hear. Through gritted teeth, he pleaded, "Please...this needs to be over. It is a distraction that I cannot afford to have."

Soft but firm fingers found his chin, and he lifted his head in unison as she brought it up. Her angelic face hovered just inches from his as she spoke, "Distraction? If only it were that simple. Do you really wish to be rid of me?"

Mahar help him, he was dealing with a dangerous creature. She could shift feelings as easily as forms, an innate ability to evoke such a gamut of emotions. Remembering the "others" mentioned by Gandalf, he had no doubt that they had been men who fell to her charms. Swallowing, his throat was drier than sand as he chose his words carefully, "I want to be done with our bargain. I have no objection to you; I would more than welcome your help on my quest."

She smiled as her fingers traced the edge of his beard, and he shivered, the contact more intimate than any he had felt in a very long time. "And you will have it, but only on my terms. I have no tolerance for commands, and I am not prepared to relinquish your obligation to me."

Shifting forward, her breath tickled his nose as she murmured, her lips just a finger's width from his, "I find myself amused by you, and on some level, you are a bit of a puzzle to me, dwarf. That is a novelty for one such as myself. But, do not push me to look beyond your worth."

He bristled at his play-toy description, but it gave him some much needed insight. "I have a name, and if you won't release me, then you could at least do me the favor of using it."

"Names are such useless things, but I can grant you that, Thorin."

"Will you tell me yours?"

The question was a test, as he was most certainly pushing his luck, but she looked into his eyes, and for a second, he thought he saw hers soften. "You already know…"

"That you are the Mage of Evendim, yes. But, that cannot be your given name…"

She paused, and he realized that somehow he had managed to see a side of this woman that no one else ever had. "I have not heard it in a very long time..."

"All the more reason for you to tell me."

"Aisa…" she whispered, "My name is Aisa."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** - I, in no way whatsoever, own any of the canon characters, places, or things found in this story. All belong to Tolkien, and I make no profit.

* * *

The clamor of a multitude of beating wings echoed in her head as she pushed, willing her current shape faster, the dual set of lungs within her breast pumping at capacity. The group glided above the tree line, following their leader and the trampled trail of underbrush like the beacon it was. A dozen or so eagles had joined her from the eyrie, and she was happy with that number, but not totally sold on their chances at success. It had not been easy for her to ask for help; it was awkward, as normally she preferred to work alone, but she was also willing to admit that the evil that faced Middle-earth was real, and far worse than herself. Besides, if she were being truthful, she had an added incentive as the orcs tracked a certain dwarf and his party, one that she had far too much interest in.

It had been simple enough to rally her feathered allies to the cause; all she had to do was mention the filth that roamed the lands near the eyrie. The great Gwaihir himself had agreed to help—his intent to watch her just as much as to be rid of the orcs. His mistrust was warranted, and she took it as no slight; the eagles had not survived so long in this land by being reckless. Her appearance in their home had been sudden—her hosts had, by no means, been thrilled by it, but even Gwaihir had realized that there was a bigger threat at hand. If nothing else, there was a mutual begrudging respect between herself and the Windlord borne out of acceptance. The eagles, like most of the creatures of Middle-earth, reluctantly understood the necessity of her existence.

The forest canopy broke into a clearing below them, and ahead, in the near distance, she could easily see the pack of wargs, their orc masters poised upon their backs. It seemed that their arrival could not have been better timed, as Thorin's group was literally trapped upon a massive tree whose roots were barely holding it. On instinct, the convocation splintered, a portion beginning the rescue while the others, herself included, took to battle. She dove, finding a warg with its master, plucking it from the ground and tossing it into the abyss. Climbing, she spotted several dwarfs clinging to tree limbs, and she spun lower, heading for the boughs at its base.

Gwaihir zoomed in front of her, his challenge not unnoticed, and it distracted her as she realized, too late, what his target was. The hobbit stood over the unmoving form of a dwarf, and her heart hammered in response as it all dawned upon her. Her screech echoed across the battlefield as he gently scooped Thorin off of the ground. Denial and hatred roared in shrieking reverberation, and another orc and his warg paid the price of her anger; she dug her talons in deep as she dropped them over the cliff. She flew low, grabbing whatever scum she could within her claws, delivering them to a falling death. She lost herself in the slaughter, almost failing to notice the call of success that sounded through the air, and sweeping back, she took the cue, flying low in the valley to catch the launched halfling upon her back. She knew that Thorin had worried over the hobbit, and after the bravery he had displayed, she would make sure they both survived this. The tree fell over the cliff as another eagle collected the wizard as their final rescue.

She pushed ahead, flanking Gwaihir and his precious cargo, and she could hear the pain in the voices of his friends as they called to the fallen dwarf. Focusing, she attempted a healing spell as they flew towards the Carrock, and she stumbled, almost losing her control. Her power is not rooted in the benevolent, and she could not focus enough to weave the magical threads. Her sad attempt had only stopped his bleeding, and so she settled for that. She knew it was not his time; he had much more to accomplish, and she refused any other outcome.

One by one the eagles dropped their precious cargo, and the halfling leapt off her back, nearly seven feet to the ground, in his hurry. All of them hovered around their fallen King while the Grey worked his wonders, and soon the stubborn dwarf was wobbling on his feet. She watched, bemused, as Thorin simultaneously berated and embraced the hobbit, and she realized that the other eagles had begun to disperse, their task completed. She considered following in order to keep up appearances, but she hesitated. It appeared that none of them were really noticing her at that moment, even though she felt like an intruder.

Thorin began to move towards the horizon, his vision locked upon Erebor in the distance, and the pride and joy lit his face like a thousand suns. She heard them talk of their home, and when the Grey raised his voice, she realized her mistake, "The worst? I pray that you are right, Bilbo. But, we have a chance to see if that's true, thanks to the Mage of Evendim and the eagles."

Everyone else looked puzzled, but Gandalf simply turned toward her as Thorin's head snapped in her direction, and she met his gaze for a moment before jumping over the edge. Soaring, wind met wing as she fled toward the eyrie, praying all the while that the mage would not give chase. He would be the only one with the capability to catch her, and it was bad enough that he had discovered her involvement; hopefully he would let her leave with pride intact. But, as the mountainside rose before her, a thunderclap nearly split her ears in warning. So much for the vaunted compassion that Gandalf supposedly had.

She saw a nearby clearing and landed, shifting back to her humanoid firm. Her voice was icy as she grumbled, "No need to be so testy, old man."

Materializing out of thin air, the Grey Wizard of Middle-earth would intimidate most, and terrify those with half a brain. But, she felt neither. He feigned an apology, "Pardon my methods. But, you left rather hastily, and I feel we have much to discuss."

She pulled her shoulders back, her naked form taut with power. She imagined the texture of her robes, their feel and weight, and they appeared about her body. "Really? I can't imagine what…"

"You know exactly what." His tone left no quarter, and she sighed as he launched his question, "What are your interests in Thorin?"

She knew exactly where he was heading, "I'm sure he told you that I assisted him when he was searching for you. I am simply curious to see his progress…"

Laughter, disbelief its source, echoed off the stone around them. "You must think me an idiot. You have a reputation, and I know better than to believe such nonsense. The Mage of Evendim is neither humane nor simply curious."

She said nothing to dispute his assertion—she knew it would not matter. "Think what you wish, Gandalf. I have given you my answer, but I know that it will not satisfy you."

He shook his head, "Curiosity does not explain why you chose to come to our aid today."

She countered, "If you do not believe me, then maybe your questions need to be directed toward Thorin."

"I don't believe that he will answer them any more truthfully."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He shrugged noncommittally, "There is something more going on here, and Thorin's own reactions proved that. He was most disturbed by your abrupt exit—he was rather eager to chase after you, but his injuries would not allow it."

Damn the dwarf, she thought, his emotions so easily betrayed him. She had worried that Thorin would become too invested, the boundaries of unfamiliarity between them done away with over their clandestine visits. She shook her head, seemingly unconcerned, "I can offer no clarity to the inner workings of the dwarven mind. I know not why he acted that way."

"Oh, but I think you do. Thorin is loyal to a fault, and he feels some sort of blind allegiance to you because you helped him when no one else could or would."

On the inside, she was basking in the glory that the condescending elder was missing an obvious connection, that Thorin had bound himself to a promise, but she could not let that on. Instead, she projected ignorance, "Maybe so. But once again, you must ask Thorin about your suspicions."

The Grey Wizard paused as he approached her, stopping a safe but demonstrative distance, "And in all of this, I can understand Thorin's motivations. He's been bamboozled, suckered into believing the beauty and the glamor. But yours...they are much less clear."

She sighed, "He is simply a unique interest. How often does one have the supposed King Under the Mountain plead for help? Those kind of beggars usually crawl upon your doorstep."

"They do so because I will help them, without need for recompense."

"It takes all kinds, Gandalf. You have your ways, and I have mine. You wish to teach charity in the face of evil, and I wish to teach responsibility in the face of oblivion."

"Be that as it may, I know your continuing involvement in this has a price, and it is a high one."

Again, she did not deny his accusations. She tossed her head to the side, almost noncommittally, when he offered, "But maybe, this time you finally care enough, and that is no crime. After all, it is refreshing to see you invested in someone other than yourself."

Her hackles stood on end, "Do not make ridiculous assumptions. You have yet to ever make a correct one where I am concerned."

His chuckle danced off the mountain, "You protest too much. Why else would you bring the eagles to our rescue?"

Anger, she was so enraged, but mostly at herself for the shortcoming. Somehow along the way, she had come to care for Thorin, and not just the favor he owed her. For eons she had kept her emotions in check; they were a weakness that she did not have the luxury of entertaining. And now, she had made the ultimate mistake—one lone dwarf had managed to reach a part of her she had thought long dead. She growled, "For the last time, ask Thorin. You may be surprised at the answer as to why I would be so accommodating…"

His bushy eyebrows slanted downward, eyes narrowing in distrust, "I will. But, I will also tell you this: there is no room in this for child's play and word games. So, I will make myself abundantly clear. Leave Thorin alone. You have done all the good you can for him."

"I will leave Thorin alone…" she offered as she marched into the wizard's space—she would not be backing down on this. "...if and when Thorin asks me to do so."

The Grey disappeared in a huff and puff of smoke, and she rolled her eyes in dismissal. He had always been one for blather, but he could also back it up, and she would have to be very, very careful going forward. She had no desire to quarrel with the elder mage, but she also would not be told what to do, especially when it came to Thorin.

Her fingers reached within her pocket, pulling from it the coin that represented Thorin's promise. She brought it up to her lips, like she was whispering within an ear, "Gandalf is ever more suspicious and you will be hard pressed to explain away my appearance. I will make greater efforts to disguise my presence in the future, and I will still be watching and doing what I can to help you. But you must control your reactions to my mention, because the wizard is no fool. The more restraint you possess, the sooner he will become less wary and the sooner I can visit. I will come to you when your discretion allows..."

She paused, hating herself for taunting Thorin with promises of her appearance, but she did need him to be more careful. She wanted to say something else, something to give him hope, but knew it just wasn't in her nature. Instead, she warned him, because she was very familiar with omens. "Be careful…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer** - I, in no way whatsoever, own any of the canon characters, places, or things found in this story. All belong to Tolkien, and I make no profit.

* * *

Scratching, a warning that he was no longer alone, and he sighed into the dank, miserable air. His cell was little more than a tomb; in fact, he was certain that the catacombs that housed his ancestors were larger than the cage he presently found himself in. The only difference was the barred door, that unfortunately allowed the rodent populace in but not him out. He was also certain that Thranduil would rather see him rot here than ever be free, so maybe it was appropriate after all.

Ironic it was though, that he had never felt more alive. Somehow, with the aid of his friends, they had survived trolls, spiders, and many other deadly pitfalls along the way. Sure, they were waylaid right now, captured and imprisoned by overzealous elves, but he had no doubt they would be free soon. Both Bilbo and Aisa were out there, he knew, working to spring them. It was surely just a matter of time.

Simply thinking of the enigmatic mage caused him to wander, his thoughts going in a direction he was extremely unfamiliar with. Except for a few innocent crushes in his youth, he had never really had the time or inclination for anything serious with a female, let alone a non-dwarven one. Not that he was blind to the charms of the fairer sex, no matter their race, but his interest had been superficial at best. It was utterly ridiculous, ludicrous even, that now of all times, when he was so close to the throne, so close to the thing that drove him, that one would come along to distract him. Never in his life had he felt this way, but he could not stop to enjoy it, and he could definitely not afford to lose himself in such a messy thing.

Of course, it was no ordinary female that he had succumbed to, and that was probably both the reason for his attraction and the source of his disquiet. Aisa was beyond beautiful, she was intoxicating; he reacted to her presence on instinct, without reason or logic. When he found her, he was a desperate, sorry excuse for the king he was born to be, and she fixed him, guided him onto the path that led him to the precipice of victory. Not out of charity though, he was quick to remember, but because she wanted something from him. At the beginning that had bothered him, but he had no other choice. Now, he would gladly give her practically anything she asked for.

While their friendship had begun out of necessity, along the way it had become more, and he was certain she felt that too. There were only so many times she could claim that she was "protecting her assets," before that reasoning became tired and unlikely. He may be a toy to her, but he was clearly a cherished one, and he didn't quite believe the simplicity of the her explanation. When they were alone, there was a softness to her, something he gathered would only ever be seen by him. It was those moments that he clung to in the lonely darkness of his cell.

Something scurried across his foot, and he shook his leg as a common grey mouse showed itself. He almost found himself swatting at it, when he paused, the knowledge of a previous visitor swaying him. The rodent never even hesitated as it dove into a crack along the wall.

"Of course not," he mumbled to himself. "She would never show up when I expect it."

He put his head back against his rolled cloak, drifting, as sleep was beginning to come to him, when he felt fingers playing with his hair. A dream, he thought, and strange, but the sensation would not leave. A whisper joined it, "It's much more fun to be unexpected."

He startled, his eyes finding Aisa within the dimly lit cell. He could only see her face, the orb she used casting a silvery glow. He could feel the pull, his need to touch her. "Aisa…"

Sitting up, his hands scrambled for her. "You're here…" he breathed, half-asleep and disbelieving what his senses were telling him.

She nodded, "I am. Better late than never."

His fingertips grazed her cheek as she locked eyes with him, and his throat went so dry that his voice sounded strained. Everything else he thought to ask, about Bilbo and escaping the elven kingdom, vanished from his mind. He had only one question for her that she had to answer, and he needed that more than his freedom. "Why?"

Her eyes found the ceiling, "Well, for one, I was trying to keep you all alive in the woods, until Bilbo managed to find you. And I could hardly barge in here with Thranduil's guards everywhere. Elves are crafty creatures, and formidable magicians—they are not to be taken lightly."

He shook his head, realizing that he was being unclear. She had no clue that his thoughts while imprisoned had been predominantly of her. "Why did you bring the eagles? Why have you saved my life twice? Why are you here now, trying to do so again?"

His barrage caught her off guard, and for just a moment, he thought he was going to get somewhere. "I told you, your well-being is important to me."

"That simple, is it?"

"We've been over this before, Thorin. I don't like to repeat myself."

Her tone left little room for any further comments, and he let it go, realizing there was no headway to be made. He released her, pulling himself back, trying to regain some space, but there was not much to be had in the tiny cell. So, he folded his legs in front of him, making due with what could be done under the circumstances.

A tiny, wry smile formed on her face at his actions, and she cooed, "Now, now...don't be put off. I was enjoying our reunion."

He would not be provoked by her, and he waited in silence, a drip from the damp stone wall the only sound among them. She sighed loudly, almost a huff, before she spoke again, "It's not very wise to ignore someone bringing good news…"

She moved, sitting on the ground beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "Bilbo will be here soon, and he has a plan to free all of you."

Thorin could not help the small grin, "That hobbit is amazing. He never ceases to surprise me."

"He may be short in stature, but he is not lacking in courage."

Turning his head, he tried and failed to remember Aisa ever uttering a compliment for anyone. She continued, "He also cares a great deal for you and your mission. But…"

She paused, giving him a very pointed stare, "I would wager that you have never questioned him as to his motives."

He could scarcely believe his ears, as just a hint of jealousy laced her words, their intent to draw a parallel between herself and the hobbit. "Then you would be easily parted from your gold. I doubted Bilbo from the beginning. But, he did not require payment sworn to by a gold-oath for his assistance."

A cackle, so loud that it bounced off the cell walls and rang in his ears, and he knew then that only the two of them could hear this conversation. "So, there is no contract between you? No agreement?"

"That was for his benefit," he tried and failed to sidestep her accusation. He knew she had him trapped, and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure. "Besides, Gandalf believes that Bilbo is essential to our success, to defeating the dragon and reclaiming Erebor. I'm sure I need not remind you what he thinks about your involvement."

"Spare me. I've heard enough from the Grey's own mouth. Did he tell you all about our little conversation?"

He nodded, "More or less. He pretty much demanded that I send you away, but I told him it wasn't that simple. That's when he said it was, that you had agreed to leave, if I asked."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I wish not to be a burden but a blessing. If you want me to go, I will."

He sighed, so weary of this dance between them, "Since when have you cared what I wanted?"

A murmur, he caught the sound as her chant began, and it infuriated him, his hand grabbing her wrist instinctively, "Go on, make away and hide. It's what you did after the Carrock."

She rounded on him, coming to her knees as her free hand shoved his shoulder into the wall. Fuming, she spit, "Do you think I would rather sit here and listen to you whine?!"

"No," he offered as he grabbed her chin, crashing his lips into hers. The response was instant—she leaned into him, and his hands found their way around her waist. Blissful but short-lived, she broke away, bracing herself against his chest. Her face wore a mixed mask of confusion and anger, her eyebrows raised questioningly with lips pursed. She stared at him expectantly, demanding an explanation, "What are you doing?"

He shrugged as he offered, "I thought of a more enjoyable way to use my mouth, since I was _whining_..."

"You assume that I enjoyed that," she tried to look displeased.

"If you had not, I'd already be dead by now."

She laughed, clear and light, and he smiled from ear to ear, thrilled that he could bring that gift to her. "True. But I'm not sure that we should complicate things."

"Too late for that," he sighed, opening his heart as he laid it all bare, "What I feel about you is complicated...it confounds and disorients me."

"Thorin," she started, and he lifted his hand, bringing a finger across her lips. "I know you do not want to hear this, but I cannot ignore it any longer."

She nodded, and he continued, "I have never before in my hundreds of years felt like this. I started all this hating that I had to make you a blind promise, and now, I never want you to collect."

"Why?"

"If you do, you'll have no reason to follow me any longer."

She sighed, and it sounded almost as bone-weary as he felt. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. I never intended to become this involved."

"You regret helping me?"

"Never," she responded emphatically, "The way you looked at Erebor from the Carrock that day—it confirmed for me that I had made the right choice. We have grown close in the time that has passed since you walked into my home, and while that is surprising, I will never regret it."

Her fingers cupped his face, gently rubbing his beard. "But, you will, and that is my fear."

He started to speak, and her finger reached across his lips, mimicking him. It stilled his mouth, but woke something else, and he prayed that the darkness masked him. "Everyone and everything else in my years have come and gone. My existence is a lonely one, and believe me when I tell you, it should be."

Her nail traced along under his moustache, down across his beard, and skimmed his adam's apple. "I could lie to you Thorin, and it is tempting. Claim to be honorable, better than what I am."

His heart fluttered as her hand traveled lower, down across his chest and stomach, pausing at his waistband as she murmured, "I'm nothing if not mischievous, and that twisted part of me would like nothing more than to take advantage."

He grabbed her wrist, returning to the same position that had started it all. "You cannot exploit me, Aisa. I am willing."

He guided her hand lower, allowing her tactile proof of his claim. She exhaled deeply at the contact, her breath shaky as she leaned her forehead against his, and he closed his eyes, feeling the struggle in the air between them. "I am a monster," she whispered to him, the words hot against his cheek. "I am what makes the bravest warriors tremble in fear, and I ruin all that I desire to end."

He felt himself spiraling, his control waning at her proximity. Every part of him felt afire, but disconnected, and he attempted to speak, but no words came. It was wrong, but worry would not come to him, and as he grabbed her shoulder, his eyes found hers. "Forgive me, sweet Thorin."

Her lips brushed his temple, and fatigue set over him, sleep coming for him too quickly for it to be natural. Her words were muddled, but he could vaguely make them out, "But, even I cannot bring myself to condemn you to this."


End file.
